Mood swings
Spring cleaning
My mother made fun of me for carrying what she termed my "childhood memories" wherever I went. She couldn't understand why I willingly carted around heavy bags full of more stuff than I would ever need on a given outing. I admit, the tendency sometimes got out of hand. I always needed to have something to read in the event that I had spare time or -- heaven forbid -- I was deserted somewhere. (You won't look as if you have been stood up if you have a book for company.) One always needs a pen and paper, etc...
The tendency to hoard unnecessary items began to take over. I didn't want to give up anything. Getting me to give away things was often torturous. You never know when something might come in handy, I would plead. I have saved childhood toys and books for future offspring who, my mother repeatedly advised me, won't want to take a second look at such old stuff.
Someone once taught me that "we are what we collect." Indeed, there is a sense of security and an affirmation of identity in the things that we possess.
I once had a heated argument with a member of our household who had disdainfully remarked on the absurd proliferation of books in my bedroom -- on the bookshelves, the desk, the floor, under the bed, everywhere. "All those karakib (pieces of junk) of yours", he said. I was extremely offended. "Calling my books karakib is like calling my friends trash. How could you?" He was right, I realise, but so was I.
The tendency to hold on to things is almost a national tradition. Just look at the balconies of any building in Cairo. It's not easy to part with prized possessions. These are the things that make up your life, that document the passage of time and testify to who you are. For example, you might be someone who has all of the tapes of Mohamed Mounir since Balah Ibrim . (One day you might like to write a paper on the history of Arabic pop lyrics, in which case all those tapes will be of use and you would otherwise have to procure them at outrageous prices from the black market). Or, you might be someone who wore mini-skirts in the 1980s (size 6?). You might have faithfully kept your late mother's favourite dresses, unbeknownst to intrusive family members, even though you will never wear them yourself. Perhaps you have the complete series of the Famous Five in both English and Arabic. You might have stacks of little notebooks from the last decade, full of your scribbles. I know someone who has Burda magazines from the 1960s! Whatever. It is who you are, and you don't want to give that up.
However, one inevitably runs out of space. At that point, one is obliged to acknowledge that something has to give. You have to prioritise and let go of some things. Just as there is a physical limit to how much karakib you can keep, each of us has an emotional limit. We cannot hold on to everything, despite its sentimental value.
Fortunately, this is the time of year to confront the task. In Egypt, spring begins the hard way. Rather than the blooming of flowers, it is the dusty hot weather of the khamassin that announces spring's arrival. For a period of roughly 50 days, the sandstorms come and go. By Shamm Al-Nessim, however, spring is officially here. The dust settles and it's time to pull out the broomstick. The curtains need to be washed. The carpets could use a good beating. The blankets must be dry-cleaned and stored.
The most difficult part is confronting one's wardrobe. There is no point in keeping clothes that are two sizes larger or two sizes smaller than your current size. Honestly! By the time you are that size again, they'll be out of fashion. (It's OK to keep that particularly black dress, of course, because it has so many memories.)
Determination and a brave heart are essential for successful spring cleaning. If you haven't used it in two years, it has to go. If it evokes painful memories, it has to go. If you've been intending for years to use it for a particular project and haven't, then it's time to admit that you're not really going to use it. If you've had a book for 20 years and haven't opened it once, it will probably find a better home at the public library.
It's arduous, but when it's over, the house will smell wonderfully fresh from all of the amazing detergents, creams and waxes that you've used on the windows, the parquet, book shelves, carpets and tiles. And if you've done it properly, you will have more space. At least a third of your closet should be empty. That, of course, is an invitation to fill it with new items. Spring cleaning is so exhausting that it has to be followed by serious retail therapy.
Dealing with the clutter in one's life is a traumatic experience because giving up cherished items often involves letting go of emotional attachments. It is difficult, but in the end as one examines the cleared space, one feels liberated, invigorated and perhaps even reborn. We are what we collect. As we choose to discard some things, so we can choose to become new and different people -- ones who collect new and different things.
Al-Ahram Weekly Online : 24 - 30 April 2003 (Issue No. 635)
Located at: http://weekly.ahram.org.eg/2003/635/li4.htm